


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by Meloncholor



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meloncholor/pseuds/Meloncholor
Summary: Albert Mason is a fool.





	1. A Letter

Albert Mason was a man of no distinctions and no direction, the world was an oyster he was attempting to pry open with his teeth and it was starting to make him ache. He was starting to think that he was just going to be bumbling aimlessly throughout the rest of his life. He was prone to doing the idiotic and the ill-advised because he followed his heart instead of his mind. And that’s why he wanted to marry Arthur Morgan. Of course, technically their marriage would be forbidden, a disgusting taboo that the state would deem unholy. But in his eyes, there was no other path for him to take. Arthur was a man Albert couldn’t picture himself without, for better or worse. 

His first course of action was to write to his mother who was back in New York, so he sat alone in his hotel room at the desk in the far corner. His pen hovered over the yellow and stained paper as he strained to convey his feelings to a woman who he knew would never understand why her son would never be returning home. His palms sweat, his hands shook, and the pit of his stomach swirled. And he hadn’t actually asked Arthur for his hand yet, but here he was; a fool that knew that even if the roughneck vagabond would deny him, he’d never be the same again. Mother would be devastated, but even though he may be a coward, he was a man of action, and not of critical thought. 

   “My god, I feel like the disgruntled maiden in one of my sister’s poetry novellas.” He huffed a laugh to himself, running a clammy hand through auburn curls. The coil in his stomach was unrelenting, and he felt as though he’d make himself ill if he thought on this letter any longer. Albert stands, stretching his back and arms, sighing to himself. There was a disturbing set of cracks along his spine, and he grunted as his body reset itself. Rolling his shoulders, he moved to the bed and sat down on the silken sheets, sinking into the mattress. Naturally, once his mind was free from the letter, it drifted back to Arthur.  _ “Most of the time… I’m worse than the wolves.” _ Albert knew him to be a good man, and he believed his new destiny was to prove it to him, to prove that he was deserving of love, even if it was from a foolish man such as himself. That photo he had taken of him was on his mind at all hours, kept neatly preserved in a special compartment of his suitcase. He willed away the urge to take apart his packed belongings and stare at it, taking in his gentle smile, the strong angles of his jaw; and just like that Albert was flustered all over again. A composed man he was not. Instead, he just stared across the room to his bag slumped against the desk, fidgeting with his thumbs and wondering at the man’s whereabouts. Would he be thinking about him? Would Arthur, the rugged outdoorsman, be longing after the hapless photographer who had nearly died several times now? His heart fluttered at the thought, and he lay back onto the bed. Arthur Morgan, dreaming about Albert Mason, he laughed, it seemed so foolish. And yet he was willing to bet his whole future on the possibility it may be true. Moving under the sheets and curling in on himself, he sighed again. Drifting off into an exhausted sleep, his final waking thoughts entangled in his knight in shining armor.

 

-0-

 

   “I’ll be goin’ for a few days Dutch.” Arthur stood at the front of his leader’s tent, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “You need me to get anything on the way back?” 

   Dutch was rifling through his belongings frantically, tossing aside clothes and blankets and the occasional well-worn record. “Other than Ten-Thousand dollars and a one-way ticket to an island? No Arthur, I don’t believe I do.” He stood, eyeing around his space again, an exasperated sigh escaping him. He looked back at him. “Just don’t keep us all waiting, we need you, my boy.” Dutch let the ghost of a smile cross his face, and clapped him on the shoulder as he left the tent. Arthur sighs and blinks a few times and turned back to camp. He returned to his own tent, to relax and regroup himself. 

Arthur Morgan was not a good man. He did not deserve good things happening to him and he was not allowed to have good feelings. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want them. He was a man that was destined for tragedy, but he longed for something more, and that something had to be Albert Mason. Arthur knew he probably shouldn’t leave camp right now. The others were raw and vulnerable from the past few weeks, but if he didn’t escape from his thoughts he doubts he’d ever be the same again. He was going to confront the issue head-on. And if it backfired on him, he supposed that was fine, he was already a wanted man after all. He had been aching, completely vulnerable to the power growing inside him. The other man made him want for things he never thought he could really have. A family, a life, happiness… and the photographer had done nothing more than take his picture and offer kind words he had convinced himself were nothing more than pity. He was a right fool, for thinking someone as bright and as intelligent as Mr. Mason would ever have someone as dirty and tainted as himself, but the way he had watched him, and the way they had spoken so softly to one another, he had to try. Under the shade of the worn cloth that served as his roof, he took out his journal and his pencil, and scrawled into the corner of the page:

_ I’ve gotten wind that Mr. Mason was holed up just outside of Saint-Denis. _


	2. An Old Nag and a Young Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur heads to Saint-Denis and Albert head to the jewelers.

Arthur left early that morning. Most of the other campers were still asleep in their tents, and he did his best not to wake them as he departed for the city of Saint-Denis. Unsure hands took their time packing his essentials: “ _ Sage, Mint, a few fire bottles, and my quiver.”  _ He murmured to himself, adding each item to the satchel on Foxglove’s back. The morning was quiet as he rode off into the woods, a thick fog was layered over the swamps and the mud muffled the trots of his young thoroughbred. He hummed to himself as the trees and brush whizzed past him. There were no other travelers about, and against his wishes he drifted back into his own thoughts, mindlessly steering Foxglove to their destination.

He imagined a warm smile greeting him as he approached the hotel, open arms and soft words letting him know he was wanted there, letting him know he was loved. Was that what this was? Love? He shook that out of his head damn near as fast as it popped up. Arthur Morgan did not deserve love. And he damn sure didn’t deserve Albert Mason.

-0-

 

Albert had decided he just wouldn’t write home. Let Mother think what she wants to think. He wasn’t going to risk her sending someone after him and finding him...doing what exactly? Albert wasn’t sure, sipping brandy and shacking up with brigands? Sitting in a farmhouse, heavy with child and a husband in an easy chair smoking a pipe? It was ridiculous really. And as a ridiculous notion, it was, he was still off to find a ring. 

He left the hotel earlier than he had planned, giving a curt nod to the woman downstairs and setting out on an old nag he had bought for cheap at the nearby stable. The jewelers wasn’t far, and he had planned on returning or at least reselling the horse by weeks end. Cool air hit him as the horse galloped through town, making him shiver. The sparse people milling about allowed him to go much faster through town, but he was starting to think that this old nag might not be able to carry all his equipment, with the way it shook under him and all. But he pushed that out of his mind for now and focused back on the task at hand. What would an outlaw want in a wedding ring? Surely not diamonds, or anything gaudy. Perhaps gold or silver? Gold would look well on his skin, and perhaps he could look at a suit or two to match for the wedding... Mother would be furious if she knew he was spending such a large portion of his saved money on gifts, but that didn’t matter now. Ideas whirred in his head, all surrounding Arthur and their fabled lives together. He was giddier than a young girl sneaking out behind the barn for the first time when he finally got to the jewelers. Albert hopped off the nag and after checking to make sure it wouldn’t collapse during his time in the shop, he hummed to himself and headed for the doors.

 

-0-

 

“Good morning sir!” A busty woman cheered from the bar counter, the front room of the saloon remarkably empty, save for a few patrons long since passed out on the far tables of the room. Arthur offered a tired smile and waved to the woman to acknowledge her. She was short, with dark blonde curls tied up in a long braid at the back of her neck.

“Mornin’ to you ma’am.” He crossed the booze-stained floors to the counter in a few short strides and leaned up against the polished wood as the woman behind the bar whizzed about cleaning dishes and reorganize the wall of alcohol behind her. “I would like to kindly ask you for a favor.” He charmed, smiling softly again and as she whipped around to speak again, the glint in her eyes let him know he had gotten her attention.

“Well…” She eyed him up and down. “I don’t think I would mind that at all.” She leaned over the counter in front of him, her breasts on full display and full lips inching closer. “What do you need hun?” 

“I’m lookin’ for a feller by the name of Albert Mason.” He leaned into her as well, their faces barely inches apart. “You seen him?” She pulled back, a little dejected. 

“You mean that very intellectual-like lookin’ man?”

Arthur nodded. 

“Well, he left this mornin’ had this old brown nag hitched out front and took off.” She paused for a moment. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Mr. Morgan would you?”

He furrowed his brows, “If I may be this Mr. Morgan.” He took a seat at one of the stools. “What do you need to know for?”

“I was on tap last night. Mr. Mason was  _ very _ vocal about you last night before he checked in.” She pulled a dirty rag from the stained apron she was wearing and began wiping off the counter with it. “Talking about how you saved him from wolves and what not, and how you were his...um what was that word? I think it was French…” She tapped at her chin with her free hand, all the while Arthur was enraptured with her words. “ _ Amour!” _ she wiped a little more fervently now. “Now I’m not one to talk or tell stories or nothin’ but I’ve heard some of the locals say things like that, and if he’s one of  _ those _ types I won’t say nothin’ but… it was a very  _ romantic _ story he was telling.”

“Romantic?!” Arthur was in shock. “Now I don’t know about all that but…” He couldn’t finish this sentence because he couldn’t think of a good enough lie.

“Like I said, mister, I ain’t one to tell stories but I would stay away from that man if you don’t want to get into any unnecessary trouble.” She smiled at him once more and turned a bit. “Now I probably have to get back to work, so unless you’re buying a drink I’m hoping you have a good day sir!”

“I appreciate the kindness ma’am.” He tipped his hat and exited the bar. Now unsure of the whereabouts of Mr. Mason. Romantic, what nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter 2! So tell me how I did! I was having a block for a while but I sort of flooded with ideas and this came up. So I really hope you like it! Leave a comment if you like, if you have criticism, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert buys a ring.

The jewelry store was all but deserted. The shop had long lines of glass-covered display tables and blinding light reflecting off of the staunch white walls. A singular man sat at the far end of the display room, a magnifying glass in one hand and what looked to be a tiny sapphire in the other. He inspected it closely, humming a soft folk tune to himself. He was much older than Albert and his lordly presence amongst the fine jewels intimidated the photographer. Nonetheless, the man was greeted as cheerfully as Albert's nerves would allow. “Good morning fine sir!” Utilizing his best nervous strut, Albert navigated the display cases to the man at the front desk. Without looking up from his work the man managed a curt hello and a wave with the magnifying glass hand, turning the sapphire over in his palm.

“How can I help you today sir?” the man asks in a cool voice, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. He set down the small jewel underneath the counter and turned steel blue eyes to Albert.

Oh no. He forgot about this part. What was it he was going to say? 'Ah yes, I'd like a wedding band for me and my outlaw future fiance who doesn't even know I want to get married.’ Not that, his mouth opened and closed a few times, fingers gripping tight the strap of his satchel. “A wedding band.” He spurts out after he finishes gawking. The older man's pinched face lit up into the smallest of smiles.

“Ah, matrimony. A lovely occasion.” He looked down to fumble in his desk again and pulled out a small device meant to measure the ring size. “Now may I…” He trailed off he looked up, peering around Albert looking for the little wife. “Is your wife-to-be not here sir?” Going beet red, Albert opened his mouth to speak but the shopkeep cut him off. “Aha! A surprise engagement! Quite the clever idea my good sir, are you aware of the bride's ring size?”

His breath escaped him and his mouth went dry. “Umm…. I-if you can believe it, sir, she has quite the large hands…” His excuse trailed off and the man's eyes widened in shock, and then it pulled into the pinched expression he had before.

“Is that so?”

“Um…” He stammered, “Have you ever been to the town of Strawberry, my good man?” He pulled off his most insincere grin to date, and the man across from him went from disbelief into amusement faster than Albert could regain his composure. He guffawed and slapped the table with a withered hand as he laughed.

“I mean no disrespect to you sir, but you had me going for quite the run!” He pulled a small notebook from underneath the table. “Now, if you could tell me what you're looking for and the size and I can bring it right out for you.” He grabbed a pen from an unwell off to his right.

“Just a simple gold band, size twelve sir.”

“And shall I fit you with a ring?”

He clutched tighter on his bag. “No, thank you. I have that covered.”

“Very well then, I'll have that out for you in a moment. One hundred and fifteen will be the price.”

“Thank you, my good man.”  
The pinchy shopkeep disappeared further into the back of the store and Albert was left alone with his thoughts again. _Perhaps I should have gone with the diamonds instead? Or perhaps ruby?_ He looked around at some of the other display cases, drumming his fingers on the pane glass below his hand. _No, rubies wouldn't match the color of his skin… and diamonds would draw too much attention…_ The shopkeep returned with a small wooden box in his hand. Albert could feel his heart begin to pound.

“Here we are! Your ring and my payment please.” He smiled warmly and Albert rushed to stuff his hands in his bag, pulling out the bills needed to pay the man. The shopkeep set the ring on the counter and took his restitution and thumbed through it, making his grin even wider. “Have a wonderful day, and may luck be with you, sir.”

Albert took the small box as the man disappeared into the back room again. He let it rest in the center of his palm, the weight reassuring that this was all still real and that he was surely going to do this. He flipped it open with his fingernail. The ring sat on a purple velvet pillow-like object. It was quite thick and large, and glittering bright with what little sun peeked into the room. It would look lovely on him. He just knew it. He closed the box again.

 

He had one last mystery to solve, however; the whereabouts of one Mr. Arthur Morgan. He checked his watch and pocketed the small box. “Dammit.” He chided himself. It was nearly half past noon, and he had planned to investigate some of the gator population today. Matrimony or no, he still had to get his investment returned. With a click of his heel, he left the jewelry store, to the old nag waiting for him out front.

-0-

“Gators?!” Arthur couldn't goddamn believe it, wolves were one thing but goddamn gators? The young man nodded.

“He was talking about them before he downed some of the good whiskey they got up there.” The young Irishman took a long drag of his cigarette. “He was saying some shite about the big angry feckers needin’ protectin’ from the hunters the come ‘round ‘ere. I told 'em that you wanna protect 'em right up until they got your pecker twisted off in a death roll. And he just laughed! A head full of rocks that one.” The man put out his cig on the lamp post he was leaning on and stood up. “If that's all ye be needin’ I got to head back to work. Take care, old man.”

Arthur waved to him as he departed back towards the shipyard. “Goddamn gators…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been a while? Yes. Is it here? Also yes. Am I a fake gamer girl? You decide.


	4. Swampy Reuninon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds Albert in the swamp

Saint-Denis is quite scenic, Albert thinks, once you leave town. The hustle and bustle of the French-inspired small city looked idyllic from a distance. But as civilization minimized, his ever-present anxiety grew. The nag underneath him wheezed as its placed slowed along the muddy road. “Goddamn that salesman.” Albert curses to himself. “It’s just a little longer dear, almost there.” He cooed to the ailing horse and it gave an apologetic whinny in response. They carried on further and further into the swamp; their trot now slowed to a mind-numbing crawl. Albert gave himself leave to daydream as the roads broke into the wooded swamp.

_ He walks through the worn farmhouse door, greeted by the smell of fresh mud and pine needles. He was filled with an indescribable feeling, something akin to warmth, and he realized he was relaxed. Actually relaxed. He stepped over a pair of mangled old boots into a lightly furnished rustic living area.  He set down his heavy camera bag at his side, leaving it out of the way of the door. Auburn eyes landed on a slumped figure in a teal green easy chair. The man’s worn and scarred hands were entangled together high on his chest and an old hat rested on top of his head, obscuring blue eyes. He snores softly, and Albert chuckles as he toes closer, careful not to disturb him. Albert just took in the scene, watching the rise and fall of the man’s chest, the short curls peeking out from under the broad-brimmed hat catching stray beams of evening sunlight. Albert reaches a hand out to lift the hat… _

 

The horse suddenly stops in the middle of a mud road, jerking Albert away from his fantasy. He looks up, there are no other travelers in sight and the trees covered much of the swampy road in a dark shade. The river was close now, just a few more trots and he’d be able to find some solid ground to set up his camera and other trappings. He pats the nag on it’s side. “Thank you for getting this far girl, I’ll be taking over from here.” He soothes and dismounts, his pack rattling with his equipment. “Off to work we go then…” 

 

-0-

 

Arthur and Foxglove booked out towards the swamps. That course Irishman reminded him a bit too much of Sean, and that combined the fact that Albert was about to be mauled by  _ gators  _ had him in a state of utter panic. As they barreled through the mud and foliage, Arthur’s hands tightened on the reins as his eyes wildly searched the treeline for a glimpse of the object of his affections. Rider and horse were travelling for what felt like hours before the solid roads lain with wooden planks gave way to the black swamp mud and overgrown trees. Their gallop slowed to a trot and Arthur whispered to both his horse and the foul air, “You think he’s here girl?” There was a small whinny, which Arthur took as his response. “I know you don’t like all these gators and snakes ‘round here but--” He was cut off by the soft whistle riding the wind. Without warning, he whipped at the reins and steered Foxglove off in the direction of the noise.

 

Albert was on the banks of the river, ankle deep in the mud and squinting out at the water for any signs of movement. He had dragged a small raggedy boat out from the brush and hitched it on a nearby tree trunk he case he needed a bit more ‘field’ research. He felt utterly prepared and almost resourceful, ignoring the fact he was cooking like a slow-roasted pig out in the hot Louisiana sun or that he was sure to turn into one large festering boil from the bug bites he was getting. But no matter, he thought. Conservation demands sacrifice. 

He was also unprepared for the rushing hoofbeats heading towards him, and the relief he feels when he sees the kind face appear from between the reeds, and the panic when he recognizes that face.

“M-m-mr. Morgan!” Albert stammers as he nearly collapses in shock. “I d-d-didn’t expect to see you!” He offers a much to a wide smile and dusts off the front of his trousers.

Arthur couldn’t help that his breath hitched when he saw the other man bathed in the noonday sun the viridian green of his vest and trousers compliment the warm tones of his skin. “I happened to be in Saint-Denis this morning and started hearing rumors about a mad man taking fancy pictures of gators?” Arthur laughed a hearty laugh and lets his worries wash away as Albert rushed forward to greet him. Arthur didn’t even realize that when the photographer offered up his hand that he pulled Albert closer if only a bit so that he could clap him on the shoulder. He took note of the other’s smaller hands, and how rosy his cheeks were and how well-trimmed his beard was.

“Well, you have in fact caught me in the act Mr. Morgan.” Albert rigorously shook Arthur’s hand. “I am still quite in the business of conservation.” he quickly turns and marches back to his camera. “Even if I may end up in the belly of the beasts themselves!” He laughed shortly as he ducked to look into the viewfinder and Arthur strode up behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was trying to capture. Albert made a muffled disgruntled noise and stepped back again nearly bumping into Arthur’s solid chest. “Well Mr. Morgan, I  _ would _ be in the belly of the beast. If the beast decided to rear its endangered head.” He laughs again.

There were a few heartbeats, and Arthur stepped into the photographer’s personal space, trying to get a better look at the camera. He turned back, and in a voice much lower than he intentioned he asked, “Could you use a hand Mr. Mason?”

Arthur was close,  _ very  _ close. The smell of his leather, gun oil, and his horse caressed Albert’s senses and he was almost flushed back into his fantasy from earlier. And then he remembered the ring in his breast pocket. He was frozen as the idea of turning his fantasy into reality and words tumbled from his mouth in an almost plea. “You are a  _ very _ kind man Mr. Morgan. You offering is quite the gesture but I--”

“It’s no problem Mr. Mason, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Albert, please.”

“Alright, I’ll help you, Albert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting close to the moment of truth babes. Leave a comment if you like, if you hate, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	5. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert and Arthur have a revealing conversation.

“You are very gracious to help me Mr. Morgan.” 

“Please, if you’re going to go on and let me call you Albert, you might as well be callin’ me Arthur.”

There was that flutter in his chest again, if Mr. Morgan, or rather  _ Arthur _ kept this up he might have to toss himself into the river with the gators to escape his own embarrassment. “W-well u-um Is-suppose I could…”

“How about I get a hold of that boat and maybe we could go find one of those little mud mounds for you to place your camera?” He points at the rickety rowboat and turns back to Mason. 

This is good, Albert may or may not be a lovestruck fool but he was quite sure in his skills in photography. His brain snapped back into place and he spoke with complete clarity, “Or I could mount my equipment  _ in  _ the boat.” The rowboat at least looked wide enough, and long enough to seat them both. “The camera mount may or may not be a bit shaky, but as long as we stay in the still water we should be able to avoid any blurriness. Very well then!” He clapped his hands together. “Shall we board or dreadnaught and brave the crafty beasts?” He reached down to grab his bag when he heard Arthur laugh.

“I’m not sure what you just said, but I think it was something along the lines of English.” Albert grabbed his camera and his mount and headed for the boat, sitting across from the rower’s position facing out towards the water. As he began to set up Arthur followed him, watching for a second as he adjusted bits and bobs around the lens of the camera before getting into the boat himself. 

“I still don’t know what this is for.” He muses, but pushes the vessel off and into the murky shallow water. The sun shone down brightly on their errand, and Arthur was thankful that Albert was looking out into the swamp instead of back at him, or he might have slipped up and said something that he knew he shouldn’t have. His eyes were trained through the lens of his camera and the view of chestnut curls shifting under his daisy-colored hat was almost enough for Arthur to take in. "You got enough of a view from there?" he took up the oars at a steady pace across the water, pushing them further into the swamp. There was a pause while Albert adjusted a few more levers and knobs before he turned back to Arthur. 

"It's perfect Mr. Morgan." His smile is wide and sincere, Arthur coughs and pulls back the oars, shifting his gaze away from Al. 

"Well that's um, mighty fine for you then. But please, it's Arthur." He looks back out on the water, the wispy overgrown trees covered their path to the islets shadowing them in a warm twilight. The boat bobbed in the water, making soft splish noises as Arthur propelled them along.

Albert flushed. "Right, A-arthur." He turned back to the camera, back through the lens. He watched the waterline for any large disturbances, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes staring holes into his back. “We’re, um, coming up on a small group here on the left. Do you mind rowing a bit in that direction?” he stammered, and Arthur made some sort of grunting noise, but the boat shifted and they were moving towards a small cluster of swamp grass and mangrove trees. 

The farther they drifted away from the surety of land and deeper into the pits of the swamp, the more at ease Arthur felt. Dutch and the others were pushed far out of his mind and all that mattered was Albert and himself. He felt bold, brave even, like he was a bit more of a real man here than he could be out in the world.  _ His  _ world. 

“Albert I…” He started, loosening his tight grip on the oars.

“Right there, Arthur!” Albert cried before there was a moment of pause and a flash. Albert whipped away from his camera to look at the other man, wonder and accomplishment in his eyes. “Did you see that!” He nearly screamed. 

Arthur laughed, “I am sure it was quite the sight, Albert.” He let the oars hang off the sides of the boat, sitting with his arms crossed between his knees. “But I, uh got ta tell you something, about why I’m here.”

The other man’s face drops only a fraction, but he maintains a happy facade as he turns to face Arthur. “Well, of course, my good friend!”

“Well, I um…” He flushed despite himself. “See you as a very good friend and…”

Albert’s eyes blew wide for a moment. Was this really it? Was this really happening? His heart pounded in his chest so hard his ears rang and it deafened him. He jumped up in the air, almost toppling the boat. “I love you too, Arthur! Sweet Jesus almighty I love you too!”

There was a pause, the air was silent and heavy and when Albert could see the shock in the other man’s eyes his own grew weary and embarrassment set in. He sunk down to sit again, avoiding the other’s gaze. “I, am sorry. Mr. Morgan. That was extremely outlandish of me.” He took off his hat, setting it on the seat next to him. “We should get back to the shore. I am a bit ashamed of myself.” Tears threatened to well up. Mother would be horrified. 

“You shouldn’t love a man like me Mr. Mason, I-I mean Albert.” Arthur reached out a callous hand to touch him but pulled it back suddenly. “I ain’t a man fit to be worthy of something like that.” 

“Mr. Morgan, I did not mean to assume your feelings. But my own are my own. And I stand by them.” He willed the tears away and made himself look Arthur in the eye. “We really must get shore though my good man, I have a train to Chicago waiting for me in a few hours.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong Albert.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not saying you were wrong. But I don’t need you to say those things to me. It’s not good for your health.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Leave a comment if you like, if you hate, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	6. Something to Prove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert needs to prove something to Arthur.

It was a staring contest between the two of them after that, Arthur only breaking away momentarily to check to see where he was going as he rowed back to shore. Despite the sullen expressions on their faces and the quietness between them both, Albert was overjoyed. He didn’t want to break the silence, as he assumed Arthur had much to think about but he was absolutely giddy with the realization that his feelings were returned. He could have jumped off the boat and ran to shore with how high his energy was. And he was hyper-aware of the ring jingling in his pocket. He wanted, no,  _ needed _ this to be perfect. He never wanted Arthur to doubt himself again on his goodness, his tenderness, anything at all Albert would give to him just to make him  _ believe _ . What a lovestruck fool he was, and it seemed he wasn’t the only fool in this boat anymore. 

Arthur was, conflicted. Albert watched him intently from the other side of the boat and by God he wished he had an answer for him. He wasn’t someone keen on filling his talk with pretty words, but he wanted Albert to know that there are people out there better than him,  _ more _ than him and he didn’t deserve that look Albert was giving him like he was the whole world laid out before his eyes. It almost made him feel, guilty. 

“Arthur?” Albert asked, his voice small.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?” Damn those eyes, and damn the pity in them. Arthur couldn’t take it. 

“I’m alright. Just thinkin’ is all.”

“Oh, right.”

 

It wasn’t long before they were back to shore, and the butterflies were still raving in Albert’s stomach. He could even hear is heart screaming in his ears:  _ The Ring! The Ring! The Ring! _ But he stated aptly silent. God knows what the other man would say to him now. Arthur set his feet on land first, pulling along the rowboat into the grass so he could be sure that it would float away. He disassembled what little equipment he still had out, and placed them each into his bag. Taking a mental inventory of each. As Albert was preparing his things for his horse he didn’t expect a hand to reach out to him. 

“You need help?” Arthur’s voice is nearly a whisper, a plea almost, and Albert lets his bag slump against the seat of the boat as he took the hand in his and stood up, letting it lead him onto solid ground. It was like he was hypnotized by the gesture. His eyes are trapped in Arthur’s, the stormy blue swirling in an inescapable trance. They’re close again now, hands intertwined. Albert can bring himself to look away. Arthur’s eyes became sorrowful, and his other hand joined so that he could clasp them both around Albert’s. He pulled the smaller man even closer, and his breath hitched as he could smell the woodlands wafting off the outlaw. Arthur’s voice was low and full of regret. “I-I ain’t a good man, Mr. Mason. And I can’t let you believe that I am.” His hands are warm and calloused, and despite his words, he inched ever closer. Albert could feel the heat in his cheeks, but furrowed his brows and stood his ground.

“But you are! And I--mmph!” In seconds their lips were touching, Albert was effectively silenced. Arthur’s lips were chapped and he could smell the gun oil more intensely from here and it was better than anything Albert could have dreamed of. Albert, on impulse, swung his arms around the other man’s neck, pulling him down to kiss him more properly. Arthur more than obliged him, dropping his hands to wrap them around Albert’s waist, his hat falling over to drop onto the ground. It made him shiver the way the outlaw’s scruff rubbed against his chin, and he was so warm. Their lips moved desperate and intense against the other’s needing to feel this, needing to be close. The embrace almost had Albert suspended off the ground, only help up by Arthur’s strong arms. He cared little for the prospect of someone riding up and seeing them. Only they mattered now.

And just like that, it was over. They parted with a gasp, still tangled in the other’s arms. They just stood there like that for another few heartbeats, scanning the other’s face for any kind of remorse, but there was none. Slowly, they parted, untangling themselves. Arthur’s hands lingered a bit longer on his hips, and when they finally moved, the absence of heat made him shiver. Covered in a rosy flush, they looked back into the other’s eyes.

“T-that um, was very uh, nice Mr. Morg--A-arthur I mean.” Albert managed to chatter.

“Yes, that was  _ very  _ nice Albert.” The sound of his own name falling from his lips in such a way made Albert shiver. The outlaw almost smiled, it was threatening to tug at his lips but his doubts were still there. He was still an outlaw, and Arthur knew he couldn’t give Albert what he deserved.

“A-arthur?” The photographer started, going redder than before.

“Yes?” He bent over to pick up his hat again, placing it gently on his head. He straightened his shirt and whistled for foxglove.

“Do you have any plans for the evening?”

“I do not, in fact.” And there it was, the smile. Full and bright as the noonday sun. Albert’s smiled was almost pulled out by force when he saw it. He’d do anything he could to just keep it there, permanently. And he thought back to the ring.

“If you’d like, I want to go for a ride later, there is something I would like to give to you, for helping me.” 

“I think I’d like that, Albert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I am very sorry for the late update. Here is something to get you through the next ten minutes. Leave a comment if you like, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	7. A Proposal of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert takes Arthur somewhere perfect.

Arthur watched as Saint-Denis settled down for the night. He kept his vigil under a withering old willow tree and watched as the last of the evening traffic rolled in. He held the small note between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing small circles into the yellowed paper. As if he was trying to absorb its contents through his hands.

_ “Meet me beneath the weeping willow that overlooks the bridge by the north road out of Saint-Denis, have your horse ready.” _ He strained to remember. 

Arthur couldn’t get over his anxieties. With every horse that passed him, he imagined a pair of eyes judging him deeper into the shadow of the tree.  _ Unworthy _ , the eyes whispered to him. But his legs wouldn’t budge, so instead, he tried to focus on Foxglove grazing instead of the carts and carriages meandering past him. Arthur didn’t know if he could take it if Albert actually appeared from under the bridge cover, his heart fluttered in what he thought to be a hollow chest at the thought.

As night drew in and the small fireflies flit about over the swamp, Arthur was only left to his thoughts. All traffic had stopped what felt like hours before the gas lamps began to grow dim, obstructing what little he could see from the covered bridge. He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves and took a long drag, exhaling as slowly as possible to let the smoke just curl out from his lips. He brushed his fingers against them as he took another drag, thinking back to Albert. He could still taste the bittersweet coffee on them.  _ A damned lovestruck fool he was _ . The thought didn’t feel as shameful or as sad now, simply a statement of a fact, and strangely enough, that comforted him. Arthur let his eyes drift closed, lulled by the sound of crickets and the gentle swaying of water in the swamp. He’d been waiting for a while now, at least an hour or so, maybe even longer, and there was still no sign of the photographer.

And on cue, he came into view slowly, the lamplight revealing Albert in comfortable evening wear. His eyes shifted about wildly, not focusing on anything in particular until they landed on Arthur. Almost instantly his eyes softened and his shoulders drooped. Albert led his old nag beneath the shadow of the tree, dwarfed by Foxglove who raised her head in a curt greeting before returning to her grass.

“Well, Arthur. If I wasn’t an honest man I would say I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Arthur couldn’t contain his boyish grin. “But I am assuming you are an honest man Albert.”

He laughed. “Then as that honest man, I will tell you that if we felt in any way the same, I knew you would come.”

“Oh, so we’re being cocky now Mr. Mason?” He nearly bellowed, more out of joy than his sarcasm.

“Will you ride with me then Mr. Morgan?” He offered a small smile.

“Always.” With a click of his tongue, Foxglove dutifully trotted over, and he mounted with ease. “Lead the way.”

Albert insisted that their destination wasn’t very far, but Arthur was concerned about what that meant. His horse wasn’t keeping up with Foxglove, and it tired out every mile or so. The old nag was on his last legs and it was starting to show. The swamps were eerily quiet as the trudged through the mud-laden roads, with only the fireflies keeping them company. Albert stayed silent, save for the occasional directions and thoughtful muttering. The horse had a mind of its own, and Albert was careful as they progressed forward. 

“So, if I may ask, where are we going Albert?” He trotted up beside the man, Foxglove’s trot much faster than the nag’s gallop. “These swamps are really no place to be at night.”

“Oh! It’s not much farther, it’s a spot where the land gets much drier, but there are still trees and swamp-like flora. It is quite nice and secluded.”

Arthur thought on it, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. “What on earth do you need it to be secluded for?”

Flushing magenta, Albert stuttered. “W-well I wanted to respect your privacy! I-um have something very important to show to you.”

Arthur laughed again, “Oh I’m sure you do, Mr. Mason.”

The flush never fully went away as the two galloped somewhat side by side through the swamp.

 

Arthur could tell it was getting  _ very  _ late, and they still hadn’t arrived. “Any updates on this secret-spot of yours?” He groaned, speeding up Foxglove a little. 

“We can cut into the woods here Mr. Morgan.” He says in a whisper, and jerks his nag to a hard right, cutting into a thinner part of the swamp. Their gallop slowed to a sickly crawl as Albert’s horse struggled to acclimate to the new terrain, but they made progress nonetheless. And in the end, it was worth it, just for the view.

It was a small clearing, overlooked by two larger willow trees and wide green foliage and grasses that shielded it from any outside elements. The grass in the center was a soft, deep green and on the far side of the clearing was a small opening, as high and as wide as a windowsill, looking out into the river that ran against Saint-Denis, with the stars reflecting across the water.

Albert dismounted first, resting his hands on his hips as a sign of approval. “I found this while taking some test photos of local birds.” He stood in the middle of the clearing, looking around as if he was showing off a brand new home. “I believe I sent those prints to an aviary in New York, or I sent them to my mother. I can’t quite remember.” He muttered.

Arthur was dumbfounded, a little part of him had thought places like this didn’t exist in the world anymore. It was breathtaking. He dismounted, looking up at the sky like he’d never seen it before. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about Albert.” He chuckled, following him to the center of the circle. 

 

Albert had really done it. Absolute perfection. There was nowhere he could ever be that would be more surreal and enchanting than this. The look of pure wonder in Arthur’s eyes was enough to last him many lifetimes. He felt around in his breast pocket. The ring was still there. Taking a last look at Arthur, whose eyes were still caught up in the sky he reached into his pocket. The gold had much more weight to it when he clasped it in his hand, with a bit of fear in his fingers he just squeezed it, praying to any god he knew that this would be  _ truly  _ perfect. “Arthur…” He started.

The man turned to face him, unadulterated joy coming off him in waves. “Yeah?”

“I-i’d like you to have something.”

Grinning, Arthur rested his hands on his hips. “And what would that be Albert.” Albert held out his closed fist, shaking like a leaf, earning a glance of concern from the other man. “You alright, something wrong?”

Albert strained to unfurl his hand, and Arthur watched as he revealed a rather large golden ring. Fear gripped Arthur's heart. “Albert. What is this?” His voice was low.

“I want you to-” He swallowed hard. “Marry me, Arthur Morgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy, I really really liked this chapter. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


	8. Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert gets his answer.

Arthur wasn’t sure what feeling just sucker punched him in the gut, but he was definitely sure of the way the world went black and sound faded behind the thrumming in his ears. All he can see is her face, eyes sad but strong. Then he remembers the graves, sitting their vigil on a grassy knoll. He’s sure his heart stops beating for a moment, but a sniffle brings him back to the present. “Albert.” He says with finality, eyes going back into focus. But he stops.

Albert has crocidile tears beading in his puffy and red eyes, and his face wears a mock smile, the only thing holding back the misery he is surely in right now. He’s still holding out the ring, shaking violently as if every muscle in his body refused to react. Arthur’s heart melts. “Albert,” He says again softer this time. The photographer sniffles, and keeps his mouth shut tight. Arthur’s entire body is warring with him: fear keeps him from speaking, but he heart keeps him from leaving. Albert didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve a man like  _ him _ . He needed a nice pretty wife and his photos and his books and someone to send him letter while he’s on holiday. Not a filthy man no more fitting to be a husband than a raccoon in gentleman’s clothes. “Albert,” Arhtur starts, his voice much softer than before. The other man sniffles again, but doesn’t respond. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I love you.” Albert sobs, ring still in hand. “More than anything. More than anyone I have ever met in my life.” Tears roll freely down his cheeks, and he takes a step towards Arthur. “I don’t care what I have to do or how I have to do it. I want to spend the rest of my days with  _ you _ Arthur Morgan.” Arthur is silent, he clenches and unclenches his fists. A single tear rolls down his cheek. 

“Aightyadamnfool.” He grumbles under his breath, sniffling as his cheeks go bright red.

“I’m sorry?” Albert shivers, leaning in closer.

Arthur takes the ring from Albert’s hand between two fingers, bring it close to his face to inspect it. He turns it over a few times, before slipping it easily onto his ring finger. “I  _ said _ , ‘Alright, you damn fool.’”

Albert blinks once, then twice, three times. He lets his hand drop to his side. Tears are streaming down his face. “Really?”

Arthur takes Albert’s jaw in both of his hands. The man immediately relaxes into the touch. “Really.” He says gruffly, but he barely gets it out before Albert crosses the distance and smashes their lips together in a kiss. It’s just as slow and tender as they always wanted it to be, and Albert is pulled up onto his toes by the sheer force of the embrace Arthur traps him in.

They part, lips barely an inch away. Arthur doesn’t let him stray too far. “I love you too.”

 

-0 Epilogue 0-

 

“ARTHUR GET THE HELL UP!” John screams at the front door, mumbling more curses under his breath. “HURRY UP BEFORE I KICK THE GODDAMN DOOR DOWN!” John didn’t like this. It wasn’t like Arthur to leave for this long, or to even be in a place like this. The old cottage wasn’t much to look at, but it was well kept and tidy. The front porch had been swept recently, and an old pair of boots were neatly placed along the front step, just out of the way of traffic. Javier was across the clearing, sitting on the edge of the garden, rifle at the ready. Charles was back towards the woods, brandishing his bow. John kept a hand on his pistol, leaning his ear against the door. He could hear the sound of a conversation, and he was definitely sure one of the voices he heard was Arthur’s. He looks back to Javier, giving him the single it was okay to move in. The other man nods, sneaking in closer to the small house.

There’s a small commotion behind the door before it opens. Arthur is standing on the otherside, not at all kidnapped or tortured. He actually looks comfortable, A cotton shirt with an old pair of jeans and suspenders looked surprisingly nice. “Hello John.” He offers a half-hearted smile, as if he hadn’t been gone for almost two months now.

Rolling his eyes, John puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out a sharp whistle signaling the two men the coast was clear. “Where the fuck have you been Morgan.” John forces his way into the cottage, freezing when he gets inside. 

The smell of a roast cooking over a fire overwhelms his senses, making his stomach growl. The tiny house is well decorated and neat, pictures both drawn and photographed line every wall and the wood looks freshly painted.

“I’ve been working out of this safe house. Dutch knows I left.” Arthur said plainly, yawning and heading further into the home. It’s another moment before Charles and Javier are at the door behind them both. 

“What’s going on in here?” Charles walks in with ease, eyes searching the walls.

“Is Arthur alright?” Javier tenses at the relaxed atmosphere, rifle still tightly gripped in his hands. 

“Come in the kitchen. Dinner’ll be ready soon.” Arthur calls to them.The trio exchange worried glances, but follow the voice.

 Arthur is sitting in a well-lit kitchen, a pig is roasting in the large fireplace adjacent, and he has he journal open at a small table barely big enough for two. He haphazardly pulled in another two chairs from the living room, the mismatching furniture awkwardly placed by the table. He pulls a cigar from his pocket and lights it with a match. The other three men are still in full defense mode, shock and disbelief painted across their faces. Each one takes a look at Arthur, and then the others. Arthur fixes each of them with the warmest smile he can manage, before barking out a laugh.

“Boy, do I have a story to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I finally decided to wrap this one up. Not only because I thought the story was complete, but also because I don't want to stretch this story into something more than what it is. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I had fun writing it, leave a comment if you like, if you don't, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be a part of some stuff I'm posting over my vacation. Drop a comment if you like, if you have any criticism, or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


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